


Bringing Knives To A Dance Party

by multishep



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Bad Romance, F/F, katariven, passive aggressive kat, speculative rivelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multishep/pseuds/multishep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm an assassin. I don't dance." Based off of a scene from Guardians of the Galaxy.</p><p>Part 2 of Bad Romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bringing Knives To A Dance Party

**Author's Note:**

> For Kyra.
> 
> Special thanks to J.

It couldn’t have been easier to find the redhead in the banquet hall. The crowd was, for the most part, divided, and Riven didn’t need to pay half a mind to know the factions were sticking together.

She didn’t know why she did what she did. Perhaps it was the upbeat music pumping blood awfully quick through her veins, but considering how close she’d come to the tables the Noxians had monopolized in the far corner and how many drunken bodies she’d had to shove through on the crowded dance floor to get there, Riven would be damned if she didn’t at least get a few words in with the esteemed assassin.

Katarina had her back to the approaching exile. She turned only when Talon, who she’d been maintaining a slow and casual conversation with, excused himself with a nod and polite cough.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she greeted as Riven slipped herself into Talon’s former seat. “I didn’t take you for the party type.”

Riven glanced at the scene behind them, then back at the assassin. “How precious, coming from someone who’s been hiding behind warm beer in a dark corner for the past hour,” she replied before snatching the half empty bottle from Kat’s hand and taking a sip.

Kat didn’t fight it, letting the bottle go and wiping the condensation off her fingerless gloves. She crossed her arms and sunk deeper into her seat, studying Riven’s face as she swallowed the drink Kat had paid for.

Riven grimaced at the first few sips, having yet to reacquaint herself with the bitter taste of beer.

“What do you want?” Kat grunted the question in a bid to hide her amusement. “The Ionians are over _there_ if tea is more to your liking.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, gesturing to where Irelia sat quietly a few tables down.

Riven’s look turned grim and her face was slightly flushed with what couldn’t have been the measly amount of alcohol she’d consumed. Kat’s hostility towards Ionia had exacerbated upon her return.

It was known that Riven had become acquainted with the Captain of the Guard, as well as a few other residents of the island nation. It was not an impossible feat for a former Noxian who had spent nearly a decade in the pacifist country, so she didn’t blame Kat for her suspicions and speculations.

“Dance with me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

For someone ‘asking’ a lady to dance, Riven didn’t look too thrilled. In fact, she was frowning a little – nervous, maybe – and it wasn’t due to the almost immediate scoff she received from the skeptical redhead.

“I’m an assassin. I don’t dance,” Katarina stated flatly.

“I see.”

The pair fell quiet, and the mutual silence wasn’t the comfortable kind they’d share from long ago. Minutes passed as they searched for some sort of distraction, any at all, pretending as if the exchange and its implications weren’t weighing heavily on their minds.

Kat’s position at the table left her with much fewer options. She studied the wall’s blotchy paint job as if it had her father’s whereabouts written on it, while Riven examined the beer label with sudden interest.

Kat could see Riven give a small nod from the corner of her vision. She looked up just in time to see Irelia return Riven’s acknowledgment before her blood nearly ignited with irritation. No, it was _not_ jealousy; such an emotion was beneath her.

“It figures that Ionia has nothing more to offer than dancing lessons,” she muttered. “Like a second Demacia.”

Riven rolled her eyes and stood, drawing the attention of those nearby, Irelia included.

“Would you cut the crap and just dance with me already, Kat?” She would bet her sword their audience’s attention did not go unnoticed by the assassin.

If there was one thing Katarina disliked, it was witnesses. But she was more than happy to remind Irelia exactly what she and Riven were – or _used to be_ , at least.

It didn’t take long for Kat to vacate her seat and step on the designated dance floor with Riven following after.

“Alright, honorary Ionian, show me what you learned.”

Riven raised an eyebrow at the new nickname. It’s a start, she supposed. At least Kat wasn’t calling her ‘traitor’ anymore.

She offered a hand and waited for Kat to move in.

Katarina obliged, taking Riven’s hand in one and resting the other on her shoulder before pressing up against the soldier’s toned body.

Riven was warm – not the cold and lifeless reanimated corpse that haunted Kat’s dreams after Coeur. She was living, breathing, and _very_ much alive. She was also wrapped around Kat in a way the assassin hadn’t dared to remember since she’d received news of Riven’s death.

“Is something wrong?” Riven asked.

Not having realized her pause during the brief reverie, Kat shook her head ‘no’ before allowing Riven to set the pace and lead.

They started off slow, but it was evident that Riven’s footwork on the dance floor did not come close to rivalling that of hers on the battlefield. Her partner, however, was not having the same trouble she was.

It’s simple enough, she told herself. Just _put my left foot forward, right foot forward, left foot right, then right foot—_

“ _Argh, dammit!_ ”

— _right foot on Katarina’s boot, apparently_.

Kat glanced down to examine the damage and winced at the dirty footprint on the black leather vamp.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed.

Only Riven could be faced with Kat’s threatening scowl and _chuckle_. Perhaps Ionia and its pacifist ideals had dampened the soldier’s sense of danger, but it was unlikely that the extent of Katarina’s raw and undiluted strength could ever be forgotten. Riven was pushing her boundaries, getting a feel for what Kat did and didn’t allow; a trial and error of sorts.

So far so good, though. She’d been able to throw the nickname ‘Kat’ around again and her head was still intact—definitely a good sign. She’d even managed to _dance_ with the assassin before her royal fuck up.

Luckily, Katarina hated unfinished business as much as she did.

“Try again,” Kat sighed, still allowing Riven to lead them in slow, small circles.

Eventually, Riven’s movements became fluid enough that she could pay Kat her full attention, rather than trying to remember where her left foot should go next.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” she challenged.

Kat was smirking now. “I said I don’t dance. I never said I couldn’t. Who do you think Cass practiced with before Talon came along?”

Her first thought was the General, but Riven wisely kept the thought to herself.

So much had happened since she’d left for Ionia. She hadn’t been the only one in Kat’s life to up and disappear. A curse had led the assassin’s only sister to be emotionally absent and, to top it all off, the likelihood that her father was still alive was slim to none. The Du Couteau name was crippled, and Kat bore the brunt of it all as High Command picked at what was left of her house like vultures.

But what difference would it have made if Riven had known? She wouldn’t have turned back even if she had.

Not to the lie that was Noxus.

And not for Katarina Du Couteau.

“You’re not going to make me buy you a new pair, are you?” she joked, suppressing her solemn thoughts.

“Please,” Kat scoffed. “You can’t afford them on your salary.”

Riven laughed. Cassiopeia would’ve been proud of that remark.

She was still chuckling when Katarina captured her lips in a kiss, relaxing against her.

Time had changed more than just the lines on their faces. Her days of being a puppet of war was from another lifetime; the one where she fell in love with Katarina Du Couteau. But she’d left that behind, allowing the years to shape her into an emotional husk, and now the woman in her arms was not the Kat she once knew.

“You’re _still_ a terrible kisser,” the redhead whispered as she pulled away.

Riven held on tight, relief boiling over after their brief trip down memory lane.

Same Kat or not, she was not about to let this one go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
